


Bin Day

by ddagent



Category: Holby City
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Awkward Flirting, F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-19 09:41:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14871338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ddagent/pseuds/ddagent
Summary: A sequel to 'Good Neighbours'. A nasty storm leaves dozens injured, hospitals overwhelmed, and Serena Campbell in an awkward moment with her neighbour, Bernie.





	Bin Day

**Author's Note:**

> Written back in January, I've *finally* managed to get this edited. I really hope you enjoy it!

Serena woke to Storm Eleanor.

Not her daughter, thank God; that storm had hit over Christmas and was now circling Edward’s property in Chelmsford. No, this was _actual_ Storm Eleanor: a tropical storm bringing high winds, gallons of rain, and injury upon injury to the already struggling NHS. If Serena had hoped to spend her rare day off enjoying a chilly walk in the park or window shopping down Holby’s high street, she would be out of luck. She would barely make it two feet without being blown into the gutter.

Huffing, Serena pulled her bedroom curtains shut and plodded downstairs to make a cup of tea and a slice of toast. She flicked the radio to _BBC Holby_ as she boiled the kettle.

_“There have been reports of numerous injuries as a tree near Woodland Primary School was toppled due to high winds. Thankfully many of the pupils were still enjoying the last day of the school holidays. The school will remain closed and the injured – including the headmaster – have been taken to Holby City hospital.”_

Serena checked her phone; keeping an ear on the news and an eye on her email. A tree had fallen on a school. A car had blown into a lorry on the dual carriageway. _Surely_ her presence was required on the ward. Yet, as she checked her texts, emails, and beeper, Serena was forced to accept that it was not. She would just have to stay home _._ Indoors. _Alone._

It was not appropriate to start drinking at eight o’clock in the morning. So Serena kept herself busy. She showered and blow-dried her hair just in case Storm Eleanor knocked the power out. Scrubbed the toilet and hoovered the upstairs and checked her messages again and again. She washed out far too many wine bottles and stacked them to drain. _Nine thirty._ Serena then grabbed tin cans and cardboard sleeves and went to shove them in the recycling bin. Outside, wind pushing her back, Serena noticed that number 42’s was already out on the kerb.

“ _Bugger._ I thought they were coming tomorrow.” Serena huffed, gritting her teeth as she slammed down the lid of her own blue bin. She stomped inside to the fridge where she’d pinned the collection calendar Holby council had sent before Christmas. Serena stabbed her finger at the first week of January. “They _are_ coming tomorrow!”

Perhaps Bernie, her neighbour in number 42, had misread the calendar. Or, perhaps, she had simply forgotten that New Year’s Day pushed the collection forward. Normally this wouldn’t be a problem. But Storm Eleanor was making a mess: upturning recycling bins, spilling their contents across the street. Old newspapers and flattened bottles littering front gardens and street corners. Bernie’s blue bin – 42 spray painted on the side – was no exception.  

“Oh _hell._ ”

Holby hoodie pulled tight around her, Serena ventured into the fifty mile an hour winds barrelling down Canning Drive. For any other neighbour, Serena wouldn’t have concerned herself. But Bernie had helped her during their last bout of bad weather, returning several _personal_ items that had blown from Serena’s garden into hers. Now Serena heaved Bernie’s bin into an upright position and began putting the strewn rubbish back inside.

Like hers, there were several sleeves from ready meals ( _ha,_ Serena thought, _they’d both had a chicken korma from Sainsbury’s_ ) and the familiar Christmas trappings of tossed out cards and torn wrapping paper. Several tags read _To Mum_. One of the Christmas cards was from an old army friend. Another was signed in Serena’s familiar scrawl; _Merry Christmas Bernie_ tossed carelessly atop bean tins and local circulars.

_Did you expect her to keep it, hmm? Hold your Christmas card to her heart or put it in a special box just because it’s you?_

Serena bristled; mouth fixed in a firm line as she continued to clear Bernie’s recycling. She shouldn’t expect so much from her. When the trauma surgeon had first moved in, Serena had envisioned coffee and lengthy discussions over articles in _The Lancet;_ perhaps a glass of wine after a hard shift. But Bernie had kept to herself; content with friendly waves and brief chitchat over misdelivered mail. And that was _fine._ But a small part of Serena still hoped for more. Friendship, yes. Something else, _perhaps._

She continued her clearance efforts; spotting complete addresses on several envelopes. Serena made a mental note to have a word with Bernie about identity fraud. The next item she picked up was a pump bottle of lubricant. The wind stung her cheeks, blooming red, as she took in the lube (sensual, tingling, a brand Serena herself used). Blinking, Serena tried not to fixate on the image of Bernie’s fingers sliding inside herself, slick and tingling; hand reaching out for more. She picked up the next piece of rubbish. The empty box of a brand new vibrator.  

That was how Bernie found her. Standing in front of the recycling bin, staring at a box advertising _three speeds_ and _massaging fronds._ Serena stared, eyes wide, and blurted out, “They’re coming tomorrow.”

Perhaps not the best choice of words whilst holding a box meant for intimate pleasure. But Bernie seemed to understand. “Yes, my registrar reminded me this morning. Rather embarrassing." She ducked her head. "Thank you. For this. You didn't have to."

“No trouble. Day off and all that.”

“Well then you _definitely_ didn't have to.”

They both paused; neither knowing what to say or do next. After a few moments a passing car brought Bernie to life; her limbs moving like a marionette as she snatched at a flattened bottle of lemonade and several plastic trays. She tossed them into the recycling bin before reaching for the empty vibrator box. For a brief moment they were both holding it, fingertips pressed against the fully illustrated diagram on the back, until Serena had the good presence of mind to let go _._ Hands free, they stole to her throat where she tried to calm her racing heart. _Thank God her registrar reminded her or she'd have thought you were some kind of demented stalker. Time to walk away with what's left of your dignity, Campbell._

“Well, Happy New Year, Bernie. I should-”

“-of course. Happy New Year, Serena.” Serena cast her eyes downward as she shuffled back inside. She would spend the rest of her day off with a bottle of Shiraz; visiting real estate websites to see how far away she could feasibly move. “Oh, Serena!”

 _What now? Had she forgotten something? Other than her dignity beside the kerb? Or did Bernie want to make it very clear that she would no longer appreciate offers of coffee, or friendly chitchat?_ Serena stood, frame taut, as Bernie jogged the few paces up her cobbled drive. She had only ever seen the trauma surgeon this uncomfortable once: whilst returning Serena's underwear. Perhaps this made them even. Perhaps there was no need for such self-flagellation after all.

“Sorry, I just-I wanted to thank you. For the Christmas Card.” Bernie winced. She had seen it in the recycling bin; realised that Serena must have too. “I’m not really one for sentimentality. I didn’t even keep the cards my children sent me.”

Serena waved a hand in her direction. “It’s fine, really.”

“I still have that bottle you gave me, though. When I first moved in?”

“Oh? Not a fan of red?”

Despite the events of this morning, the wind knocking them both off kilter, Bernie _smiled._ “Actually, it seems too lovely a bottle to waste on just one person. Perhaps, one evening, you could help me drink it?”

“I’d love to!” Serena couldn’t help but smile herself; her wind stung lips pulling into an eager grin. After nine months of being just neighbours, they were finally taking their first step to becoming something more. “I’m free this weekend. Pop round with the bottle any time.”

"Great. Wonderful. _Good._ " Bernie was floundering. It was rather adorable. "Perhaps we could discuss the new Harris article? I'd love to get your thoughts."

"Not sure that much profanity is suitable in front of company but I'll try to keep it child friendly."

"Not-not the whole night, I hope."

Serena raised a single eyebrow, met by a fine pink blush over Bernie's cheeks. It could be the biting wind. _It could not._ But before she could probe further, Number 41 opened their door and immediately started cursing the local council. Bernie took that as her cue to leave, offering Serena one more smile before returning to her kerb strewn recycling. Serena took herself inside, her cheeks aching with the force of her smile. _Something more indeed._  

Still smiling, Serena headed upstairs to find her Christmas present to herself. Unlike Bernie, she’d kept the box.

After all, what would the neighbours say?


End file.
